1990
by AyumiFallassion
Summary: The swaying of minds is difficult enough, especially if the person is a woman. But can Belarus be convinced to look to her people instead of to Russia for once?


Inspired by a bit of role-playing a month ago between me and a friend. This is dedicated to you, Gaamari-chan!

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia, or anything else mentioned within the fic. I know the band mentioned is not from the 90's but I thought it was good for the purpose of the fic. It suits both of the characters.

1990

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She had always loved the feel of leather, of how it warmed under her touch as if it was a living thing. Or against her skin like right now, as her partner ran gloved hands over her throat and leg. Her head tilted back as long fingers caressed her throat, wrapping around her neck in a vague threat that made her shudder. She shivered again as warm lips breathe against her ear, a soft pant as he pulled her more securely in his lap, hand sliding higher up her thigh. The hilt of a knife brushed against those questing fingers, and before she could protest, it was pulled away and set aside.

The radio was playing a soft song in the background, and her companion chuckled against her, recognizing the band as Nightwish. The caresses slowed till they were in time with the song, a slow seduction that played with her nerves as she arched back against him. "You know he will never care like you want him to. He'll never want you like I do," he whispered, lips brushing against her neck in a kiss, light as a feather against pale skin.

She refused to answer. Even now, as warm hands drifted closer to her hips, she remained loyal to her brother. Her stubbornness only earned her a sharp nip to the shoulder as talented fingers worked the buttons at the back of her dress. Pale skin was caressed with lips and fingertips as the blue fabric was slowly pushed down. A leather coat, worn but carefully patched over the years, was quickly added to the desk next to them. A tie was thrown over next by own who couldn't wait to get rid of the choking hazard.

She rotated in his lap before he could grab her hips again. Her lips sealed his, silencing his protests. Nips and licks reigned between them even as her arms were slipped from her dress sleeves, the top of the fabric released as he pulled on the ribbon around her neck. The satiny fabric pooled through strong hands, settling between the two of them.

They broke for air. Sharp blue eyes, the color of a Virginia sky, took in the sight of the strong Soviet. Russia's Union was falling, held off only by the resources taken from his sisters and few remaining allies. He couldn't call her skeletal, but the young woman was much thinner than a human doctor would call healthy, thinner than she'd been the last time he'd seen her.

He didn't pull away. Warm leather and warmer lips caressed her, drawing over sharp collarbones and visible ribs. The soft sounds over his head encouraged his efforts. The Soviet was as volatile as her brother, and he always kept an eye on her mood.

A gentle push had her recline back against the bed, propped up on her elbows as her partner shrugged out of his white dress shirt. He'd gotten a little tired of replacing them every time he came to see the young woman. A shift of her hips, and the dress was off, a pool of blue fabric on the floor, leaving her in just a creamy white bra and a garter.

"You could break away from him," he offered, hands caressing her chest and sides, running over sensitive skin. "Or you could join with me." The Soviet glared at him through the haze of pleasure, panting softly. The younger Nation grinned as he kissed her face, drifting over sharp cheekbones and a delicately pointed nose. "You know me. I may change a few things, but you know I won't oppress your people or force you to send me all of your resources. Freedom is too important to my country to do that," he offered, swallowing as he leaned forward, their hips brushing against each other's.

A sudden flurry of motion, and the younger Nation groaned as his head banged off the headboard, suddenly finding himself on his back. The momentary daze was the five seconds the young woman needed to use his own tie to fasten his hands to the bedposts.

Reality snapped back at the cold touch of a second knife that had been in her bra as it tickled his cheek. "You forget yourself America," she offered silkily, drawing the deadly blade over his cheeks, lips, and nose. It drifted down over his chin to trace over the veins in his neck. Despite himself, the man swallowed, bucking his hips slightly against the weight of the woman in his lap. "You forget my loyalty to my brother lies beyond my wish for his hand. I would allow my country to fall if it meant he would survive."

America shuddered under her deadly touch even as the throwing knife played over the muscles in his chest. Belarus smirked as she played with a nipple before traveling downwards again. "You offer every time, and every time I refuse. Why?"

The younger Nation swallowed a pant as the Soviet traveled towards his lap, delicately slicing through the button of his pants. "I guess, after all this time," he offered as she sliced through his khakis, "I'd hoped that you'd learned to like me enough to listen."

Belarus laughed as she threw the shredded remains of his uniform to the side. Her movements became slow and languid as she ran long fingers over her flat stomach and chest. A flick of the blade, and her bra fell open, cut at the front. America shifted under her again. She may not be as large as her sister, but she was still impressive. "I do like you," she smirked. "Otherwise, I would not be here." The knife drifted down to her garter now. "It I did not trust you, I would be gone in a heart's beat."

"Then why don't you listen to me?" he groaned as sharp blade's kiss slid between garter and skin, parting the lacy fabric with a touch of pressure. He licked his lips at the sight of the proud woman above him in all her glory, and started to pull at his tie.

She smirked as she leaned over, knife forgotten as her hands splayed over his muscular chest as her face hovered over his. "If a time comes when I must leave my brother, it will be on my own terms, and not yours," she whispered, shifting her hips to lift and sit and moan at warm that filled and stretched. Lips connected frantically as hips bucked upwards, a groan vibrating in America's chest. The world shrank to only them, to sound and movement and sensation. Nips and kisses and rhythm. A rip; America ignored the scrap of silk around his wrist as he grabbed her hips. Belarus's head fell back with a moan as leather-clad hands took over, setting a faster pace as sensation and warmth and pleasure built higher and higher and tighter until tipping over with a scream.

She sighed a few minutes later, draped over the younger Nation, her head resting on his chest. One gloved hand was lazily stroking her shoulder, while the other was carding through her hair. She shivered in delight every time he brushed her ribbon; it was her secret area, like Austria's beauty mark or the Italy Brother's curls. She shivered slightly one last time as he stopped, before propping herself up on her elbows. "You are too good to me," she offered. "To everyone. It will get your country in trouble one of these days."

A grin as he shifted up onto his own elbows. He had always loved her accent, the way she trill-rolled her Rs. "That may be so, but I'd rather be friendly to the rest of the world then go back to isolationalism." He planted a kiss, long and sensual, before giving her a final smile. "Eventually, Russia is going to collapse. All I ask, is that you use the common sense God gave you, and look to your people. And either way," one final kiss, "I will be there to help you stand on your own two feet."


End file.
